


Tags, Or, The Labels of Death

by Charles_Basilone



Category: Original Work
Genre: Dog Tags, Earth is a Death World, Humans Are Deathworlders, Humans are space orcs, Implied/Referenced Character Death, Outer Space, Space Australia, alien character, deathworlders
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-23
Updated: 2020-07-23
Packaged: 2021-03-05 05:01:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,387
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25458958
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Charles_Basilone/pseuds/Charles_Basilone
Summary: When you think about it, dog tags are an interesting concept; we were able to erase people's features before they were made irrelevant by DNA analysis. A conversation between a human and his alien crew mate about his tags.
Kudos: 198





	Tags, Or, The Labels of Death

**Author's Note:**

> Important: all serial numbers used here are the result of keyboard bashing

**Tags,**

**Or, The Labels of Death**

Have you ever thought about how odd dog tags are? We were able to advance our warfare to the point where we could kill by splitting atoms before we could ID the dead by their DNA. What if that wasn’t true for other species? What if we alone are the ones who will wear a label so simple we regard it as a label for our dogs since we alone are capable of such horrible disfigurement in war?

* * *

The human was smaller than xer, but roughly what xe would consider average for the humans. In fact, that was the best descriptor for him: average. He was about 82 of the human kilograms, if xe recalled correctly. That was… 6 slugs? Somewhere around there. All in all, xe didn’t think this human looked all that dangerous. He certainly didn’t live up to the improbable stories xe had heard about the “death worlders.” He called himself James, something barely pronounceable in xis language, Ad’ere’et, the dominant trade language on xis homeworld, Phr’enelolit.

Xe was 105 Kellen sidereal years old, barely an adolescent, when xe first heard of the himins, as the Ad’ere referred to them (the first syllable being difficult for the Ad’ere, as Ad’ere’et had nothing like the hu sound in it), first became whispered about. The interstellar community had heard of them before, but they were just beginning to travel in space last they heard, not worth noting-- until Ky’netes’ 105th birth day. Shortly after that, the first whispers started with horror (‘they travel through space strapped to what were their primitive projectile weapons, fueled by an explosion, that they RETROFITTED to carry them’). The stories told of a species not notable for some profound intellect-- the ‘rocket’ system of propulsion was proof enough of that-- nor for their rather unremarkable culture; nor, unlike the Ad’ere, their remarkable moral steadfastness. No, they were indeed remarkable for almost the opposite: they had a willingness to do things no Ad’ere would ever even contemplate, and that the Irkene had outlawed before they even travelled to space and encountered the Phr’enelolix, dubbing them ‘to terrible for words.’ A species which, despite having no exoskeleton, being of at most an average stature, weighing less on average than any Phr’enelolix, survived things that would have killed any Phr’enelolix. They certainly weren’t invincible, but all the rumors of how they died-- Ky’netes shuddered just thinking about it. They were like one of the beings they called an ‘eldritch horror’ in their stories (those had been terrifying to read about, but xe had never liked horror). But xe had to focus, the himin who he had slowly been making friends with over the past week was saying something to xer.

“Ky’netes, you were talking about the Irkenes the other day and the founding of the Kal’barta, and I know you’re a mechanic and not a politician or a historian, but could you maybe tell me more about it? I’m still trying to learn galactic history to the level they teach it in your schools,” James said, sitting down across from xer in the rec center of the ship.

Ky’netes was tempted to tell him to go away. That he’d do it later, xe was trying to read a new journal about the new navigational system they were getting soon, since as the ship’s navigator that was xis job, but xe looked at James and sighed.

“Sure.”

“Cool.”

As Ky’netes started describing the first actions of the creation of the interstellar governance body, James shifted a couple of times, then leaned forward, and that was when xe heard a noise that sent a chill through xis skeleton: metal clinking against metal. Not a noise that was heard on a ship as well run and well maintained as this one.

“Did you hear that?”

“What, the clinking? Yeah, I’m sure it’s fine.”

“Things do not clink on this ship, Mr. MacDonnell,” xe said sharply, “you know as well as I that the captain does not tolerate a clinking ship.”

“Relax, Ky’netes, it’s not the ship. It’s these,” James said, reaching into his jacket and shirt and tugging on a series of metal beads around his neck. This revealed a chain with a metal plate that had a malformed rubber edge on it, as well as another, much shorter chain with another metal plate on it with a similarly malformed edge. The plates clearly had something embossed on them, but Ky’netes couldn’t tell what.

“What is this necklace, James? Why does it look like the plates have words on them?”

James absently ran his thumb over the lower tag, his eyes never leaving Ky’netes’ as he said, “They do. My tags.”

James inhaled and closed his eyes, still running his thumb over the words stamped into the lower tag. “MacDonell. James William. 4-1-8 0-5 6-8-9-5. USMC; M. Protestant.”

“James, are you okay?”

“Yeah, Ky’netes. That information is just permanently stamped in my brain, and so sometimes it’s just-- I guess it’s almost comforting, I guess-- but the information, it, it grounds me, I guess. You’re familiar with that, I’ve seen you do it to yourself.”

Ky’netes made a small noise of assent and then said, “So what do they do? What was that?”

James smiled, but it was a flat smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes. “Me. My name, serial number, service, gas mask size and religion. Everything of importance, you know?”

Xe eyed James suspiciously, before saying, “And just what the fresh fuck is that supposed to mean?”

James laughed, a broad smile cracking his face.

“Ky’netes! I’m so proud of you! You used fuck so perfectly there!”

This made Ky’netes laugh, and it was a few minutes before either of them were in control of themselves again.

“It’s the pattern used by the United States Marine Corps for the dog tags it issues to its troops. I was a staff sergeant assigned to a combat engineer unit, but more on the demo side doing sapper type shit than on the building stuff side. These tags, they’re to identify us if we die-- if we can’t. They use these to identify us when they can’t recognize our bodies. Not really anymore; now we can just use DNA, but we still wear them. We didn’t always have the science to ID people, just horribly mangle them. So we used this. Do you want to see another?”

Wordlessly, Ky’netes nodded. James reached into the breast pocket of his jacket and removed his wallet. He flipped it out and produced another metal plate like the ones he wore, but this one had no rubber edging. He handed it to Ky’netes, who took it and read:

MACDONNELL

LYDIA CATHERINE

651 16 4651

USMC M

PROTESTANT

Something about the fact that James had this unsettled Ky’netes, but xe was also fascinated that James had carried this so far, and asked, “Who is-- she?”

“She was my wife. She was a staff sergeant, but infantry. We met at Parris Island. She was killed. Her company was on a patrol and stopped so her company commander and his platoon commanders could check their map, the damned fools. They got taken out by an explosive. It was a damned ambush. Lyds, she organized the troops, took charge since no one else as gonna do it. Led them in a counter attack, right up front like any leader worth shit would. Got hit by a sniper while recovering the wounded. She died a hero. That’s what got her her Navy Cross. I keep her tag to have something of her while I’m out here.”

“James, I--”

“Don’t. It’s been years. I appreciate it, though. Damn, do I miss her. Drink?” James offered a small flask that had seemingly come from nowhere to Ky’netes.

“No thank you. I’m still pretty sure your, uh, scotch is some kind of poison. That’s really sweet that you still keep that, but damn if it isn’t barbaric that you had to invent labels you couldn’t destroy because you couldn’t figure out who it was.”

“You’re telling me, dude. I mean, I kinda figured we were the only ones in the known galaxy quite that special brand of fucked up, but it’s another thing to have to stare it in its face, you know?”

**Author's Note:**

> Yeah, that's the real USMC dog tag pattern. Also, I created a pronoun system for the aliens with four different pronouns, all individual third person, and created exceptions and such, and then promptly didn't use them. Woops. Also, The Silent Service is almost ready to be updated, as is Flora and Fauna. Sorry about the long absence to anyone who reads those.  
> Very respectfully,  
> Charles Basilone


End file.
